Queen Anne's Lace
by goldpiece
Summary: When a poem turns up with some remains at the lab, Brennan learns about an aspect of Booth's past that she was previously unaware of.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: To Jamie. As promised for a wedding present...Queen Anne's Lace._

Seeley Booth scanned into the examination platform at the Jeffersonian Institute's Medico-Legal lab, file folder in hand on their latest case. A body was found by a couple of picnickers in Michigan, shielded by some tall blooming plants. As he bound up behind the team, he clapped his hands together and looked over at the examination table housing the body.

"Okay people, what have we got?" Brennan looked up from the remains for a moment, meeting the eye of her partner.

"Female, mid to late twenties of Caucasian descent. The initial examination shows no trauma to the bones that would indicate a cause of death."

"So what, no kerf marks or radiating fractures from the occipital? Nothing?"

"Very good Booth, but no, there's no sign of bone trauma at all. Cam took some tissue samples to analyze and Angela is currently waiting to see if there's a match to her dentals, and until the results come in, I have nothing for you."

"So there's no indication of foul play at all?"

"Nothing at all. The body was found in a field along with a few bits of clothing and a book of poetry."

"Really? What poet, or was it a collection of different works?"

"It's the collected works of William Carlos Williams."

"Wow, he's my favorite. Was the book open, or closed when it was found?" Angela scanned onto the platform, dental x-rays in hand. She looked at Booth curiously as she stepped up to a computer and called up a missing person's file.

"I wouldn't peg you as someone who reads poetry Booth, although being the closeted romantic that you are, I shouldn't be surprised," the artist said as she looked over the information on the file.

"I'll have you know that my senior thesis in college was an analysis of modernism in American Poetry. Williams was one of the main founders for the modernist movement." Booth hitched his thumbs under the edge of his belt as his chest swelled out a bit. He might not have all the scientific knowledge that the squints had, but he'd be damned if they knew more about poetry than he did.

"I never took you as someone so in touch with their feminine side Booth," Hodgins said as he carried the book over to the examination table. "You always seem a little too, you know, alpha for that."

"Look, just because I like reading doesn't mean I'm effeminate, okay?" Brennan looked at Booth and frowned.

"The last thing that I recall you reading was a comic book."

"It wasn't a comic book, okay? It was a graphic novel, and anyway, you can learn a lot about someone by how they interpret what the author puts on the page. Now, was the book open to anything specific, or was it closed?" He looked at Hodgins, waiting for a response from the entomologist. Hodgins only smirked as he flipped open the thick book.

"When we received the remains, the book was closed, but it falls open easily to 'Queen Anne's Lace'. Judging by the amount of particulates, I'd say that poem was the last thing our vic read before she died. Ironic seeing as she was found in a field of _Daucus carota."_

"In English, Hodgins," Cam said from her corner of the platform. Jack sighed and pointed to the pages in the book.

"She was found in a field of Queen Anne's Lace. It's a type of wild carrot that blooms in July and August; the stem holds several smaller flowers that make up the bloom." Angela glanced from Hodgins to Booth, a questioning expression on her face.

"Do you think the poem has anything to do with how this woman died?"

"I don't really see how. The poem is about making love, the imagery is actually quite erotic as it follows the blooming of the flower as an allegory to reaching orgasm."

"You are unbelievable, you know that?" Booth glanced at his partner with a frown.

"What are you talking about?"

"You get uncomfortable if anyone talks about sex, but discussing it in conjunction with poetry and suddenly you can discuss intercourse?"

"She's right Booth. You usually are much more embarrassed when discussing sex," Angela said while looking at the FBI Agent. "What makes poetry so different?"

"Are you serious? Look, whenever you guys discuss it, it's usually inappropriate and I don't need to know that much about the people that I work with, okay? When it's poetry, you're seeing how the author and the reader see sex. Is it compared to flowers or something dark and sinister? Is the interpretation that of sexual arousal or abuse? There's a difference, okay? Now can I read this or not?"

"By all means, read Shakespeare," Angela smirked. Booth cleared his throat and began to read the poem aloud to the team.

"Her body is not so white as  
anemone petals nor so smooth--  
so remote a thing. It is a field  
of wild carrot taking  
the field by force; the grass  
does not raise above it.  
Here is no question of whiteness,  
white as can be, with a purple mole  
at the center of each flower.  
Each flower is a hand's span  
of her whiteness. Wherever  
his hand has lain there is  
a tiny purple blemish. Each part  
is a blossom under his touch  
to which the fibres of her being  
stem one by one, each to its end,  
until the whole field is a  
white desire, empty, a single stem,  
a cluster, flower by flower,  
a pious wish to whiteness gone over--  
or nothing."

"How in the hell does that relate to sex?" Hodgins didn't see it, and apparently neither did Angela.

"It sounds more like abuse to me," the artist said as she set down the dental x-rays onto a table next to her. "I mean there's that line, '_wherever his hand has lain there is a tiny purple blemish_'. That can't relate in any way to sex, unless it's rape. That's very obviously a reference to her skin bruising as he hit her."

"Angela, that one line by itself isn't enough to base you interpretation of the poem, and why would you of all people jump to the conclusion that the poem is about abuse?" Booth stared at the artist as she crossed her arms and looked away from him.

"How can you think it's not? _Each flower is a hand's span of her whiteness. Wherever his hand has lain there is a tiny purple blemish. Each part is a blossom under his touch to which the fibers of her being stem one by one_. That sounds like abuse. The woman in question here is being abused, and the language of the poem describes that very vividly."

"No, it doesn't. Angela the sections that lead you to see abuse are often misinterpreted. The line about _taking the field by force_ is his wife's feminity and fertility which he sees growing stronger just as the flowers multiplied in the field, both of them a force of nature."

"So what you're saying is that the wife is a strong individual, someone not held back by the mores of the environment they're in," Brennan commented as she listened to Booth's argument. While she was a writer, and could insert a message via a metaphor into her fiction, analyzing poetry had never been a strong point, always seeming a waste of time and energy as it was just too open to interpretation. Booth nodded at her response before he continued.

"The next statement about _wherever his hand has lain there is a tiny purple blemish_ is not bruising. When he's referring to the flower he calls it a mole, they are the beauty marks on his wife's body that he sees when he runs his hands over her. Like in the opening when he says she is not as white or as smooth as the flower, he's saying he loves her with her imperfections, to him every freckle makes her even more attractive. When he says her body has been measured by a hand's span he's making an intimate reference to the fact she is measured by his touch. They're words of love for who she is and how he sees her," Booth stepped closer to Temperance as he spoke. Angela watched his movement, curious about what he was planning to do. "The poem was written about his wife, whom he loved more than life itself. Williams wasn't one to use really flowery language when he wrote poetry…what Hodgins?"

"Dude, that's funny because we're discussing a poem about a flower. Isn't that flowery enough?"

"Oh ha ha. I'm serious though. The imagery very clearly describes him making love to his wife." Angela still looked skeptical, but Temperance seemed to be intrigued.

"I'd like to know how you see it that way," she said to him. Booth smiled and stepped even closer to her.

"Do you trust me," he murmured so no one else could hear. At her nod, he moved in to stand directly behind her. Brennan's heart began to beat just a hair faster as he stood close enough for her to feel heat radiating from his body.

"_Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth, so remote a thing. It is a field of wild carrot taking the field by force, the grass does not raise above it_." His breath tickled across her neck and shoulder and she tried to suppress a shudder. "This woman he's talking about, she isn't some rich, hoity toity woman who sits inside all day, untouchable. No, she's earthy and knows how to live. She has a natural beauty and is strong, not some little delicate thing." Even with the team watching, he seemed to be nuzzling Brennan's hair, taking in the scent of the floral scented shampoo she used that morning.

"Okay, I get that, but what about the sex?" Booth just rolled his eyes before glaring at the entomologist.

"I'm getting to that, okay? _Here is no question of whiteness, white as can be with a purple mole at the center of each flower_." Booth ran a finger along Brennan's neck and this time she couldn't stop the shiver that ran over her body. Her own skin, pale because she wouldn't let the sun damage it, looked even whiter in comparison to Booth's darker complexion as his hand drifted farther down and began unsnapping her lab coat. "_Each flower is a hand's span of her whiteness. Wherever his hand has lain there is a tiny purple blemish_." Her coat fell open, and Booth swept his hand just under the edge of her shirt, her skin flushing with heat at the contact. How could he be doing this to her here in the lab, and why was she letting him?

"Go on," she choked out, trying to remain objective as he continued his recitation. She could endure this for the sake of inquiry, right? She closed her eyes as he stepped forward, his thumb rubbing small circles just under the edge of her sternum.

"_Each part is a blossom under his touch to which the fibers of her being stem, one by one, each to its end, until the whole field is a white desire, empty, a single stem, a cluster, flower by flower, a pious wish to whiteness gone over, or nothing_." Brennan waited, breath held for more sensation until she noticed the absolute quiet around her. She opened her eyes, which had drifted shut at some point as he talked.

"Dude, if you use that on all the ladies, no wonder you can get some tail."

"Yes, thank you for ruining the mood Hodgins," Cam said, shaking her head at him. Booth just grinned, stepped away from Temperance and leaned back on the railing surrounding the platform. Brennan took in a deep breath and tried to calm the quick tattoo of her heart rate, which had increased during the demonstration.

"The woman's arousal is equated to the blossoming of the flower, growing as each individual bloom flowers until the whole thing, each tiny flower is open, an explosion of white in the field. Full bloom of course is orgasm."

"You know, that's actually a correct metaphor for arousal," Temperance said and nodded her agreement. "Many sex therapists suggest the use of such imagery for women who have trouble reaching orgasm." She raised her eyebrows as Booth shifted uncomfortably against the railing. Brennan scoffed and shook her head. "You are unbelievable, you know that? Here you go equating flowers to sex, but when a clinical use backs up what you were saying you get uncomfortable again."

"Well, as interesting as this all was, how exactly does it relate to our victim here?" Cam looked over her team with an eyebrow raised. "I like poetry as much as the next person, but I don't think it relates in any way, shape, or form to solving this girl's death."

"Are you kidding," Hodgins said, a glimmer appearing in his eyes. "She was found in a field of wild carrots reading a poem about said wild carrot. Clearly she was trying to tell us something."

"Yeah, probably that she liked the poem and found a field of the flower and decided to spend some time by herself there." Jack looked over at Booth and shook his head.

"Dude, you're just no fun."

"I just don't need this turning into some sort of…conspiracy. If you find out anything, please let me know. I have to get back to the Bureau. Bones, dinner later?" He waved at the group as he left the platform, whistling as he went.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Here we are at chapter two. I'd like to point out that the first poem in this chapter is mine and I will be quite put out if it appears anywhere else without my permission. That said, I'd like to thank Jaed for her work as a beta. Jaed, you have your work cut out for you on the next chapter. Now, enough of that. On with the story._

Brennan sat at her computer, still flushed from Booth's demonstration on the platform. She knew he had a college degree, he had to in order to hold the position of Special Agent, but she never thought of asking him what his course of study had been. She always assumed it was Criminal Justice as his career choices seemed to support that field. Never would she have thought he'd studied English Literature.

Shaking her head, she pulled up her favorite search engine and entered Booth's name. A moment later, several entries popped up, surprising her at the absolute number of sites featuring her partner. After scanning the list, she clicked on the link to Penn State Press. What on earth could Booth have done to have a link up on that website?

"Hey Bren, a match came back on the dentals. Sadie Nash, age twenty five. She was reported missing two months ago by her fiancé." Temperance looked up from the computer screen and at the artist.

"I'm sorry, what was that Ange?" Angela raised her eyebrows in surprise. She stepped up to the desk and dropped the file onto the glass top.

"Sadie Nash, our girl out there? Booth really threw you for a loop didn't he?" Temperance frowned and looked back at her computer screen.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't give me that Sweetie. I saw the effect that demonstration had on you, although I still say that poem was about abuse. I don't care what Booth said. It's a bit ambiguous."

"I think he made quite an effective argument for his interpretation."

"I'm sure you did," Angela smirked. "Now are you going to tell me what's so interesting to you that I had to tell you twice about our victim?"

"I was just looking up a book."

"Ah, what is it, creation myths of the Urdu?" Brennan leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

"Something like that. Was there anything else Ange?"

"Nope, that's about it." Temperance picked the file up off of her desk and flipped it open. She perused through the information quickly before returning her gaze to her best friend.

"I'll go ahead and get this over to Booth."

"Oh? Before or after dinner?"

"Look, I have to run some errands before I get out of here. I'm just going to stop off at the Hoover building while I'm out."

"Whatever you say sweetie. I'll call you if we find out anything else." Angela sauntered out of the office and Brennan turned back to the computer. Listed on the Penn State Press website was a book, along with a biography of her partner. Curious, she clicked on the biography. The picture of Booth was not one that she expected. She'd always assumed that Parker got his curly hair from Rebecca, but it was quite obvious now that she was wrong. In the photograph, her partner wore a serious expression which was somewhat ruined by the curly locks hanging down on his forehead. No wonder he keeps his hair so short, she mused.

Temperance clicked over to the other link to sample the book of poetry. There were two poems listed, one of them called, 'Blue Depths'.

She is the ocean,

crystal blue slipping into the blackness of depth

Currents and eddies surrounding,

buoying up toward the surface

But what hides in the depth, the unknown,

the mystery kept out of the light intrigues

She does not reveal her secrets,

waves washing along the shore,

building up and breaking down walls,

rolling with timeless consistency

and yet there is constant change,

growing as the world fills it

Brennan read over the words a few times, taking in the style and cadence to his work. The rhythm seemed to follow the movement of waves on a shoreline, an impressive feat considering the subject matter. She pushed away from the desk and stood up, grabbing her belongings on the way.

Her mind was still on Booth's earlier interpretation, the feel of his hand against her skin lingering though it had been hours since he'd touched her. She felt flush from the memory, her skin warming as blood rushed to the surface. Brennan placed a hand to her cheek in a vain attempt to control her physiological reaction to her partner. He'd only touched her with the barest of motions and yet it was as if he'd set her a flame.

What made his touch so different this time? They were in physical contact with each other constantly, whether it was his hand at her back, or a needed hug, and never had she reacted that way to him. Objectively, this should have been no different. They were discussing the case, and he used an example to prove his point regarding his interpretation of the poem. There were many examples she could think of where her team had demonstrated an interpretation of information, and generally Booth was somewhat reluctant to participate. Something had changed though.

Never would she have thought that he would be well versed in poetry, so in touch with the emotions he held in check around other people. For that brief moment, he dropped the alpha male demeanor and was an intellectual. He was on her level, not that he wasn't intelligent, but she'd never felt such a connection to her partner when it came to the 'brain'.

As she pulled up to a stoplight, she closed her eyes and took in a breath. His touch continued to linger, a ghostly caress from a lover. She ran a hand over the path his had taken and let out a breath. Something had changed between them, and yet it was nothing that she was aware of. When the light turned green, she continued through, frowning. What had changed? Why was his touch so different from every other moment between them?

Her musings were interrupted as she reached the Hoover Building. After parking and checking in with security, she made her way to Booth's office, her heart beating faster as she neared him. With a light rap on the doorway, Brennan stepped into the office as Booth beckoned her inside.

"Hey Bones, what's up?" He motioned to the chair opposite his desk and set down a file he'd been looking over. Brennan handed him the file she had with her as she sat. Hmmm, everything seemed normal so far.

"Angela got a hit in missing persons from the dental records. Our victim is Sadie Nash, age twenty five from Flint, Mi." Booth flipped open the file to look over the information before looking back up at his partner.

"Was cause of death identified yet?"

"No. We're still waiting on the tox screen, but I don't think we'll find anything there. Her missing persons file indicates that she was a type one diabetic, so it's entirely possible that she slipped into a coma and died because she wasn't able to get medical help soon enough. Cam is trying to determine what her insulin levels were at time of death, and that would give us a better indication." As she finished speaking, the two of them looked at each other, eyes meeting and neither saying a word. The hairs on Temperance's arms began to stand on end at the electricity that seemed to fill the air between them.

"So, any thought about where you want to go to dinner," Booth said, breaking the silence that had descended on the office.

"Oh, no I haven't really thought about it. Why don't you decide and just pick me up at my apartment. I have a few other errands to run before then."

"Sure thing Bones," he smiled, their eyes meeting again. Brennan stood up, followed by Booth. He smoothed down his tie, walked around his desk and placed his hand on her back as he led her to the elevator. "I should be by around seven this evening, is that okay?"

"Of course. I'll see you then Booth," Brennan smiled as she stepped onto the elevator. He returned the gesture as the doors closed, and Brennan let out a breath of air she didn't know she'd been holding. Everything still felt so normal around him. She sighed and crossed her arms as the elevator descended down the shaft. Something had to explain why she'd felt so out of control earlier, and until she figured out what it was, it was going to drive her crazy.

XxXxX

Booth stood in front of her door and rang the doorbell as he waited for her to answer. He shifted the bouquet of flowers from one hand to the other and adjusted his tie as he fidgeted. He'd gotten carried away at the lab as he explained his interpretation of the William Carlos Williams poem. He hadn't meant to get handsy with Bones, but the opportunity presented itself and he was always one for visual examples.

Something had happened though as he'd slid his hand along her skin. It was as if a jolt of electricity had jumped from her body and into him, setting all of his nerves on a misfire. He'd touched Brennan hundreds of times, hugged her, even kissed her, but never had he felt that way. Once his little demonstration was over, it was all he could do to get out of the lab and create some distance between the pair of them.

They skated that thin line he'd laid down, and it often felt like they'd crossed it in the past, but never as blatantly as today. Seriously, what had he been thinking? He couldn't just touch her like that in front of everybody. Okay, so it felt really good to have his hands on her… Booth's mouth quirked up into a smile as he imagined the feel of her soft skin under his fingers again.

"Booth, you're early," Temperance said as she opened the door and stepped aside so her partner could enter. Her eyebrows rose as he handed her the bouquet of flowers. "How did you manage to find a florist that sells Queen Anne's Lace?"

"Well it helps when you have to call around for a case. You changed your clothes." Booth took in her appearance as she walked away from him with the flowers. She glanced once over her shoulder while she pulled a vase down from her cupboard.

"Yes, well I felt that I should wear something a little more appropriate for a dinner date," she said. Booth smiled and followed her toward the kitchen, noting that her table was set and lit candles provided a soft glow of light. There was some light jazz playing in the background.

"A date? Is that what we're doing?"

"Hmm, well it would seem we're of one mind tonight if you brought me flowers. Did you know that the meaning behind theses flowers is fantasy?" She filled the vase with water and put the flowers inside it, gently arranging them until they filled out the space.

"Yeah, funny people those Victorians. They gave meaning to everything to allow for a secret exchange of messages. I suppose they were much more conscious of rejection than we modern day people are. A gentleman would send a bouquet of flowers to the woman he desired and waited for a response. If he got a yellow carnation back, the he knew his attention wasn't appreciated, but if he got back say a red camellia then he knew it was meant to be."

"And what's the meaning behind that flower," she asked as she handed Booth a glass of wine. He took a sip before answering and looked straight into her eyes. "You're a flame in my heart." Brennan swallowed and looked away from him for just a moment before she cleared her throat and glanced back.

"That's quite poetic Booth, although after this morning I shouldn't be surprised. Here, sit down while I get dinner." She set her wine glass down on the table and moved back into the kitchen. Booth did as he was told, smoothing down his tie as he sat.

"Bones, you didn't have to make me dinner. I thought we could go try that new restaurant near DuPont Circle."

"Well, I felt like staying in was in order tonight." Brennan brought over two plates and set one before Booth as she took her own to her seat. Once she sat down, she took another sip of wine. "Why didn't you ever tell me you were a published author?"

"What?" Booth choked on a sip of wine. "What are you talking about?"

"I found the book of poetry published by Penn State Press. I'm just surprised you never said anything about it before."

"That was nothing. When my shoulder crapped out on me, I lost my scholarship to Penn State. My parents couldn't afford tuition, so I had to do something to get money for school."

"So you published a book of poetry?"

"I didn't, no. One of my professors, Dr. Soto suggested that I enter my work in a competition. The winner would earn a scholarship, and I agreed to submit my collection. I didn't really think that anything would come of it, but it was worth a shot. Turns out I won and got the money to finish school." Booth stabbed at the food on his plate and took a bite. Brennan shook her head as she watched her partner.

"Booth, it's an honor to be considered for a competition, let alone win. That was a major accomplishment. You should be proud of that."

"Yeah well, it got me through school so I'm grateful for that. Poetry wasn't the most helpful skill in the Middle East."

"Surely you had to find it somewhat cathartic though. It had to provide some sort of release for you."

"I remember one poem in particular always struck me as appropriate. When I went into the military, I was seeing this girl, Ciara who I'd gone to school with. We were pretty hot and heavy, always wanted to be together, but never went out if you know what I mean."

"You had an intense sexual relationship with her." Booth flinched, though her bluntness should have come as no surprise to him. He looked down at his plate and pushed the food around a bit before taking another bite.

"Yeah. Anyway, when I was out on missions I'd find myself thinking about her a lot, and it kept me pretty sane, like I had something normal in my life. A buddy of mine had this book with an E.E. Cummings poem in it, and I memorized it because it just sort of fit."

"What was it?"

"It was called, 'My Sweet Old Etcetera'. When things got tense, I'd just say it over and over in my head." Booth picked up his glass of wine and took a sip before looking back at Temperance. "The poem is a letter home to the love of his life, talking about the war. _my sweet old etcetera  
aunt lucy during the recent_

_war could and what  
is more did tell you just  
what everybody was fighting_

_for,  
my sister_

_Isabel created hundreds  
(and  
hundreds)of socks not to  
mention fleaproof earwarmers  
etcetera wristers etcetera, my  
mother hoped that_

_i would die etcetera  
bravely of course my father used  
to become hoarse talking about how it was  
a privilege and if only he  
could meanwhile my_

_self etcetera lay quietly  
in the deep mud et_

_cetera  
(dreaming,  
et  
cetera, of  
Your smile  
eyes knees and of your Etcetera)_." Booth caught Brennan's gaze and noticed the way she looked at him, eyes wide and hungry. He leaned forward, pushing into her space, never breaking contact, but not touching her. "It's not Ciara that I dream about now Bones. I dream et cetera of your smile, eyes, knees and of your…"

Temperance leaned forward, closing the gap between them as she caught his lips in a kiss. Booth reached up, cupping the back of her head with his hand and drawing her closer to him. Her mouth was pliant under his as he took control of the kiss, drawing her bottom lip in between his teeth and nipping at it. She moaned against him, her hands reaching up to grasp the lapel of his jacket, gripping with white knuckles.

They broke apart, panting and clutching at one another. Her eyes were wide with surprise at her reaction to him. His eyes just darkened as he looked at her with hunger before standing up from the table and moving away. He put his hands on his hips, his jacket spreading wide as he whirled to face her.

"You, Temperance are the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, a temptation I shouldn't engage in." Even now, that poetic sensibility filled his words. Her heart racing, Brennan stood to face him. She stepped closer and held out one hand to him.

"Then I think you should just yield to temptation."


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Well here it is, the last chapter. Thank you for sticking with me through this, and I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know what you think._

He looked at her outstretched hand as she waited for him to make the decision. He ached to touch her, taste her, be with her, inside her, make her call out his name in that moment of release when the world seemed to contract around them and only they existed for that instant. She was the forbidden fruit, and knowledge of her would surely kill him. He reached out a hand to her, but retracted it a second later. A look of hurt and rejection washed over her face, but changed to confusion as he began to circle her, his attention on her, but not touching her.

"Why do you suppose that God put the tree of knowledge in the Garden of Eden if he didn't want Adam and Eve to eat the fruit of it?" Temperance kept her eyes on Booth, not sure of the direction of his thoughts. His eyes were intense, the deep brown darkening to almost black as he continued his circle around her, as though he was stalking her.

"I'm sure its function in the garden was purely a device by which the author could spin a morality tale."

"Temptation. There was no need for that tree to be there, nor the tree of life for that matter. God put it there to see if his creation would be tempted to disobey."

"Hmm, I always saw it more as God giving his creation free choice. They could choose whether or not to eat of the fruit despite the fact that they were told not to." Brennan gasped as Booth stepped closer to her, his body brushing lightly against hers. Her heart rate increased to a quick tattoo as she tried to maintain an even breathing pattern.

"They fell into temptation anyway. It's amazing isn't it how close Temperance is to temptation?" He reached up and picked up a strand of her hair, running the silky texture between his fingers. Brennan let out a small breath and reached out to Booth. He wanted to know how close Temperance was to temptation? Temptation was right in front of her and she'd resisted it for long enough. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down until their lips met. His arms circled her waist as he met her fervor, mouths opening, tongues sweeping, trying to dominate, yet equal in all things.

Neither was aware that they were moving until Brennan's back crashed into a wall. They broke apart with a gasp and looked at each other.

"Don't you understand Booth? You've had knowledge of me since the day we met. I'm not a temptation. I'm yours." Booth reached up and tangled a hand in her hair as his lips descended down again. He pressed kisses along her jaw and down onto her neck, running his teeth against the cord there.

"You are temptation. You're the one thing I can't afford to have knowledge of…to know. You truly are the forbidden fruit." He ran his hand down through her silky tresses onto her back and traced lines there, making her shiver at the contact. She buried her fingers into his hair, watching as it curled around her fingers. How had she not noticed that before?

"I am nothing more or less than you want me to be." She closed her eyes and tilted her head to give him access to her neck and sucked in a breath as he nipped at the skin.

"You are the one thing I'm not meant to have. I've tried to resist, god you have no idea how I've tried to resist." Booth placed open mouthed kisses down the v-neck of her black dress, swirling his tongue just under the edge of the material, tasting her. "I've watched you, wondering what you taste like, what you feel like. It's as if I've had the serpent wrapped around my shoulder telling me to just take one little bite and be as God. Only God should have such knowledge of something so perfect."

"Booth, I'm far from perfect." She arched forward as he began his assault on her again, closing her eyes as warmth began to pool in her belly.

"It's your imperfections that make you more so. Your body is not so white as anemone petals, nor so smooth, so remote a thing…" Frowning, she pulled Booth's head away from her chest and made him look at her.

"How do you see me Booth? If you were Williams, how would you describe me? You say I'm forbidden fruit, that I'm temptation in the flesh, but is that how you truly see me?" Booth moved back away from Brennan for a moment to look at her. His gaze skimmed over her, taking in the flush of her skin, the rise and fall of her chest and the crystal blue of her eyes as she waited for his response.

"I see your eyes, crystal blue water that is warm and inviting, and I long to dive into the depths and be immersed in your very being." He brushed his hand along her cheek, leaned in and placed gentle kisses on her eyelids as they fluttered closed. "Your eyes are hypnotic and draw me in every time I look at you. Your soul reflects back at the world, all of that compassion and emotion that you try so hard to hide. Why do you hide it?"

"Booth, I…" He held a finger up to her lips, the corners of his mouth quirking up as she kissed the tips. Booth circled around behind her again, his fingers running down her arms, smoothing over the skin before tracing a path back up.

"Your hands hold endless fascination for me, and I've often wondered what it would feel like to have you sweep them over me with the same care you show those people you give voices to. What would it be like to have all of your attention and care on me, so focused that I am the only thing to exist in your world?

"Your skin is smooth alabaster, white and delicate but holding an underlying strength." He kissed the column of her neck again and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back into him. "When the sun hits you, you glow as though a halo of light surrounds you, showing you for the angel you surely are."

"I'm no angel," she murmured as his hands slid up her torso and he cupped her breasts in his hands, measuring the weight of them. He trailed his lips down her neck and onto the creamy skin of her shoulder.

"Oh but you are," he whispered, sending a shiver down Brennan's spine. His lips remained on her skin when he began to speak again, the words somewhat muffled, but sending vibrations throughout her body. "You are an angel, Temperance. You have an unending supply of compassion and a desire to do what is right for people. You're a guardian angel to so many people, coming out of nowhere and changing their lives for the better. I see your family in you, how you're the perfect combination of each one of them.

"You carry your family in you, though you felt that you had none for so long, they were always with you. Your compassion belongs to your mother, a woman whose fierce beliefs passed on to you. Your beautiful mind, that thing which makes you so unique is all your father's doing. That undying loyalty to those you let close, is your brother, who never gave up on you. All of these things combined to make the angel I hold in my arms right now." Brennan spun around in his arms, her hands sweeping up his chest, feeling the way his muscles contracted under her touch. Slowly, she grasped his hand and gave a light tug, leading him from the dining room and down the hall to her bedroom.

Once they were standing in her inner sanctuary, Temperance closed the door behind them and moved to once again stand before him. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she reached for the hem of her dress, pulled it up over her head and let it pool on the floor where she dropped it. Booth gulped as his eyes swept over her curves, her most intimate areas covered in black silk. He reached out a hand to feel the smoothness of her skin, his tongue darting out to wet his suddenly parched lips. Temperance smiled her Mona Lisa smile as she stepped up to him.

"You want to know what I see when I look at you? I see bones. I see two hundred and six to be precise, each one connected to the next, shaping you. Every life experience is mapped into those bones, leaving its mark, but that isn't all that they do." Temperance pushed Booth's jacket off of his shoulders. He shrugged it off, not caring as it fell to the floor in a heap. Brennan reached up to loosen his tie before pulling it off over his head. "They protect the thing that makes you so unique. They protect your heart, providing a safe haven for your feelings; somewhere you can retreat to or emerge from like a phoenix rising from the ashes."

She began to unbutton his shirt, her hands brushing against the hard plains of his body, nails scraping lightly over his muscles. He was coiled and tense, holding back everything including his breath as she pulled the tail of his shirt from his pants.

"You are a phoenix, rising from past adversity to become the man you are now, the protector you are. It's been said that the tears of a phoenix can cure any ill, but it is your very presence that cured me. You've shaped me into the woman I am. You've given me back everything I thought I lost all those years ago, and you've opened me up to what it means to give yourself over to someone." Booth dropped to his knees before Brennan, his arms wrapped around her waist, his face buried against her abdomen. She ran her fingers through his hair, holding him close to her and shut her eyes, relishing the moment. "You have healed me, and for that, I'm yours."

It felt as though they were spinning, falling into some other place, somewhere that they alone existed and all the barriers they had surrounded themselves with had vanished. She could feel him breathing, strong and steady as he continued to clutch her waist, and gasped when his lips came in contact with her skin.

"Temperance, don't say things like that to me. You don't know what it does to me." He placed open mouthed kisses along her abdomen and slid his hands lower until he was cupping her bottom, gripping the firm muscle as he pulled her closer to him. "I've dreamt of having you for too long, convinced myself that you were out of reach, that piece of forbidden fruit beckoning me to just take a bite. The only thing is, I don't want to settle for one bite. I want the whole thing."

"You make a great poet," she gasped when he grabbed hold of her panties and slid them slowly down her long legs, his lips kissing a trail along the insides of her thighs as she shuddered. He reached her knee and reversed the path until he was at the juncture of her thighs. Booth could feel the heat pouring off of her. He could smell her arousal, and it surrounded him in its heady perfume.

"You like the poetry huh?" Booth kissed her mound, dipping his tongue between her folds to taste her. Brennan gripped her hands in his hair tighter and sucked in a breath at the shudder that coursed through her body at the contact. How, in the course of a day had they gone from co-workers to this? How had they gone from simple touches on the arm or back to Booth worshipping her body? She moaned and pushed her hips closer to him, beckoning for him to take her to the height of ecstasy.

"Seeley please," she murmured, her knees weakening at his ministrations. Booth placed one last kiss to her center and stood. He looked at the woman before him, moonlight filtering in the window from behind the sheer curtains and making her skin glow white.

"What is it that you want, Bones?"

"I want you to make me feel the way you see me." Booth bent to pick up Brennan and carried her over to the bed as he kissed her. She opened up for him and he swept his tongue into her mouth, rubbing it sensuously against her own. She moaned and arched up to him, trying to keep as much contact between them as possible.

He removed her bra and brought his mouth to her breasts, placing open mouthed kisses there as his hands moved lower, touching and caressing her. With every contact he made with her body, she felt as if she were on fire, her body thrumming in time with the movement of his hands. She pressed up toward him, her hips pressing closer to his hand as his fingers slipped in and out of her, slick with her arousal.

Brennan pulled Booth's head away from her breasts and brought him to her for a kiss. When she broke away, she met his eyes, hooded with arousal, with her own.

"Let me feel you inside of me," she murmured and moaned when he pulled away from her entirely. He toed off of his shoes and socks as he undid his belt and pants, shucking everything off before returning to her. Brennan watched his approach, the way his muscles moved under his skin, undulating to the rhythm of his steps. There was so much power there, held in, coiled and waiting for release. Though she'd always called him an alpha male, comparing him to a wolf wasn't entirely accurate. He was more a cat on the prowl. He'd been a sniper, he was an ambush hunter stalking his prey until just the right moment when he'd pounce.

Temperance moved across the bed until she was near the headrest and welcomed Booth to her as he crawled up between her legs, his erection nudging her center as he settled over her. Their eyes met, intense in their desire as she rolled her hips to him in invitation. He sheathed himself in her in one motion and both of them gasped, afraid to move as if it would destroy the connection they had to each other.

He began to move in her and she pressed her body up into his, wanting as much contact as possible with him. There was something in this moment, something that held her gaze to him as the world around them blurred and came into sharper focus all at once. Every sense was alive, hyper stimulated by their connection. Suddenly she understood what he'd tried to demonstrate at the lab. _Each part is a blossom under his touch to which the fibers of her being stem one by one, each to its end until the whole field is a white desire, empty, a single stem, a cluster, flower by flower, a pious wish to whiteness gone over or nothing._

Her entire body tingled as she exploded in wave after wave of pleasure, blooming under his touch as he came with her. Slowly, oh so slowly the shockwaves receded and both lay tangled together, panting, hearts beating as one. Booth leaned down to kiss her and began to move away, but Temperance clutched him to her.

"No, stay," she whispered. He smiled and settled again, being careful not to crush her under his weight.

"You truly are an angel," he said as he looked down at her. She glowed in the moonlight, her hair fanning around her like a halo of fire.

"And what of the knowledge, was it worth the temptation?" Booth kissed her one more time before clutching her to him and rolling them onto their sides.

"It was worth every moment."


End file.
